This was a subject that Jenny could ramble on about forever, so Isabelle said, “Why don’t you show Michael how you can ride your bike, Jenny?”
“Okay.” She started wheeling her bike out of the garage, saying, “I can ride it real good.”
“I’m sure you can,” Michael responded.
Jenny picked up the uncomplaining Patience and stowed her in the basket on the back of the vehicle. Then she climbed on carefully and started pedaling up and down the driveway. Michael watched her, smiling, and when she came near them again, he said, “You’re good on that bike.”
“I know.” Jenny started down the drive again.
Michael turned toward Isabelle. “Your daughter is delightful.”
Isabelle felt foolishly like crying. “You—you were very good with her.”
“I like her,” he said simply.
“I’m glad.” Her smile was a little tremulous.
Michael slipped his arm around Isabelle’s shoulders and pulled her close against his side. “I take it you’ve been with other guys who didn’t like her?”
“I wasn’t with them long,” Isabelle replied dryly.
Michael let out a bark of laughter. “So this was sort of a litmus test for me?”
“I don’t know if it’s a test, exactly, but...well, it’s pretty impossible to go anywhere with a man who’s repulsed by my child.”
“Repulsed? Surely you don’t mean that. How could someone be repulsed by Jenny? She’s a sweet girl.”
He obviously meant what he said; he was genuinely amazed that someone might not want to be around Jenny. He wasn’t just being polite or acting. He liked her daughter just as she was.
Isabelle relaxed, letting out a small sigh of relief. “There are people who are repulsed. Or scared of her. Not everyone is able to handle being around people who are handicapped, either mentally or physically. I don’t know what it is exactly, but you can see the uneasiness in their eyes, in the way they stand. It’s as though they know they shouldn’t show it, but they have to brace themselves not to. They don’t realize it at first—she looks fine, you know. But then you can see the understanding dawning on them as they talk to her, and there is this subtle body language, a sort of drawing up. Other people are simply too impatient to deal with her. They can’t stand the repetition and the chatter.”
Michael shook his head. “It doesn’t bother me. I like kids. I always wanted a family. I guess it’s from all those years I spent bumping around from foster home to foster home. Never belonging anywhere.”
There was a distant look in his eyes for a moment, and Isabelle felt a sympathetic tightening in her chest. “I remember your telling me how much you hated it.”
“I always swore I’d be the best dad ever. Even when I was a teenager, I’d think about how I’d do things with my kids...teach them stuff.” He shrugged. “Now here I am—never had any.”
Guilt wriggled through Isabelle. Had she been wrong to withhold Jenny from him all these years? Isabelle sidestepped the subject. “You were married, though. I saw an article about it.”
Michael cast her a humorous glance. “Checking up on me, eh?”
Isabelle flushed faintly. “Well, sometimes I’d see something about you, and I’d read it. I was curious, I’ll admit it.”
“So was I. I read everything about you I ever saw.” He looked at her for a long moment, then turned away, looking out across the yard toward Jenny. “It’s true. I was married for about a year. It was one of those dumb, totally mismatched things. We got married four or five years ago, and then we discovered we didn’t get along. I wanted kids—that was one of the reasons I wanted to marry. It was really important to me to have a big family. But Annie didn’t want any. She didn’t bother to tell me that she didn’t intend to have a family until after we were married. But as soon as I suggested that she go off the Pill, she let me know in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of letting pregnancy spoil her figure. But she was just as unwilling to adopt or have foster children or anything of that nature. Kids would cramp her style. She wanted to party all night and sleep half the day and spend the rest of her time shopping. I don’t know how we were ever attracted to each other in the first place. I was glad to call it quits.” He shrugged. “She was glad to get alimony.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It didn’t hurt like it did when I left you,” he said simply. He paused, then went on. “What about you? Are you divorced from Jenny’s father?”
Isabelle shook her head. “No. We were never married.”
The subject made her nervous; she wasn’t ready yet to tell Michael that he was Jenny’s father—especially not after he’d told her how much he had wanted children. She had the uneasy feeling that he would be furious with her for concealing Jenny’s existence. Whatever was developing between them seemed too tender and fragile to withstand more anger from the past. Besides, she wasn’t yet sure enough of Michael to expose Jenny to the hurt that could result.
She shifted uneasily and said, “I’d rather not talk about him.”
“All right.” Michael paused, watching Jenny driving around in endless circles at the far end of the driveway. “Tell me about Jenny.”
“Well, she goes to a special school, and she’s doing wonderfully well. She almost never throws temper tantrums anymore. She used to get very angry, you see, when she was frustrated or when you’d cross her about something, and she would shout and kick and hit, even bite. But she’s gotten better as she’s gotten older, and since she’s been at this school, she’s almost completely overcome it. She has learned not to pick up everything and put it in her mouth, and she can stop talking for several minutes or go play by herself for a while if you tell her firmly to do it. She’s pretty high-level. They tell me when she’s older she should be able to live in a halfway house and be semi-independent. Hold down a job.”
“You look sad when you say that.”
Isabelle made a wry face. “I’ll miss her. I guess it will be best for her, to be around other people, to live more like a regular adult. But I know I’ll be lonely for her.”
Michael ran a caressing hand down her hair. She turned and looked up at him to find that he was gazing at her, his face warm and tender. “You’re a very loving mother. There are some who would have given up long ago on the trouble and effort of raising her, who would have sent her away to some private institution.”
Isabelle smiled wryly. “I’m not a saint. There have been many times when I was frustrated and tired and impatient with her. Besides, it’s much easier when you can afford to have good help to care for her whenever you’re not home, or to send her to expensive day schools.”
“There were plenty of years before you were starring in a soap,” he pointed out. “It had to be tough then. And it’s only human to get frustrated or impatient. The thing is, you loved her enough to overcome those things.”
“She’s my daughter. How could I not?”
Michael bent and placed a gentle kiss on Isabelle’s lips. “That’s what’s so special, that you don’t think it is, that you wouldn’t have thought of anything else.”
“Wouldn’t you have done the same thing?”
“You mean, if Jenny were my daughter?” He paused, considering. Isabelle liked him for that, that he didn’t just automatically, carelessly, agree. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I would have done the same thing.”
Guilt gnawed at Isabelle. She ought to tell him. But again she backed away. It wasn’t time yet. There was no telling what might happen between her and Michael. She would wait until she was sure.
Jenny came pedaling back up to them. “I’m hungry,” she announced, coming to a halt.
“I imagine supper’s about ready,” Isabelle replied, happy to change the subject. “Why don’t we go inside and see?”
Jenny climbed off her bike and took Patience out of the basket. Patience shook herself off and gratefully bounded away, then back, and jumped up to greet Michael all over again.
> Jenny took Michael’s hand as they started into the house, saying proudly, “I helped with supper.”
“Did you? Then I imagine it will really be good, won’t it?”
Jenny nodded her head emphatically. “I like lasagna. It’s my favorite.” She paused, considering. “Almost. I like pizza better.”
Michael grinned. “Me, too. I’m a pizza junkie.”
Jenny began a long, disjointed recital about one time when the pizza man came. Even Isabelle wasn’t sure what she was talking about. But Michael listened patiently, and when the story became hopelessly tangled, he managed to direct Jenny onto another subject.
Isabelle took the lasagna out of the oven and carried it to the table, while Jenny proudly showed Michael the place settings she had arranged. He complimented her and, Isabelle was pleased to note, did not reorganize the haphazard arrangement of silverware into the more customary setting, as more than one guest had done in the past.
They sat down to eat in the breakfast room off the kitchen. Isabelle cast a glance around the small room and commented, “We’re a little informal here.”
She didn’t add that they rarely used the formal dining room because of Jenny’s frequent spills. Tile was much easier to clean up.
Michael smiled and poured her a glass of wine. “That’s the way I like it.”
Isabelle chuckled. “You’re very agreeable tonight.”
He cast her a wounded look. “Are you implying that I’m not always that way?” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s easy to be agreeable here. Everything—and everyone—is just right.”
There was a warmth in his eyes as he looked at Isabelle that made color tinge her cheeks. Even in this prosaic setting, with Jenny sitting beside them, Michael could stir her passion with no more than a glance.
The meal was blissfully ordinary. They talked and laughed as they ate, and Jenny was happy to join in their laughter even though she understood little of the humor. Isabelle had never cared much for the trappings of being an actress. She didn’t want to dine at Spago or put on a designer dress and jewels and go out to be seen. She was far more content in jeans and a T-shirt, having a meal at home with Jenny, and Michael seemed to be as comfortable with it as she.
Please let it be true, she found herself thinking now and then throughout the meal. There had been other men who had pretended an interest in Jenny, who had seemed to be pleased to act “like ordinary people,” but who had really been interested only in getting into bed with Isabelle. The passion was there with Michael; there was no doubt about that. She could see it each time he looked at her, feel it whenever he touched her arm or her hand. But along with the banked desire, there was also a certain easiness, a sense of being natural and right.
After supper, they sat in the family room, feet up on the coffee table, hands clasped, and they talked while Jenny watched TV. They talked about the years since they had parted and the things that had happened to them. Michael listened, his thumb rubbing Isabelle’s hand soothingly, as she told him about Jenny’s birth and the long months of hope and fear afterward. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. Isabelle leaned against his chest, breathing in his scent, luxuriating in the comfort of his arms around her. She was falling in love with him, she thought, and she hoped it wasn’t foolish. But she sensed that, whether is was wise or not, she couldn’t stop herself.
Later in the evening, Isabelle put Jenny to bed, despite Jenny’s reluctance. Jenny insisted on giving Michael a hug and a kiss before she went. When Isabelle returned, Michael stretched up a hand and took Isabelle’s wrist, pulling her down onto his lap. She snuggled up against him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her back. He nuzzled her hair, and a shiver ran down Isabelle’s spine. She was very aware of his hard chest and the heat of his body. Isabelle smoothed a hand across his shoulder and down his arm.
She thought about her bedroom, which lay on the other side of the house from Jenny’s. She had always thought that she would never let a man spend the night here. It had been an easy decision, she realized now, because she had never before found a man who tempted her to anything else. But now she found herself thinking that Jenny would never know, as long as Michael left before she got up the next morning.
Still, she stirred uneasily and sat up, leaning away from Michael and shaking her head. “Michael, I...”
“I know.” He cupped her chin and kissed her, firmly but without passion. “I understand. You feel uneasy with your daughter so close. I’m not pushing you. Let’s just sit here and talk for a while.”
So they did, talking some of the time and the rest of the time just sitting in warm, silent, closeness. Desire hummed deliciously beneath the surface, and now and then they kissed or caressed, but they did not allow their passion to break through and carry them away. There was something sweetly exciting about postponing their lovemaking, a certain fulfillment in simply being with one another.
Later Isabelle made them coffee and they talked some more, this time sitting mundanely in the kitchen. Finally, reluctantly, they parted, barely able to keep their eyes open, yet hating to let the other one go. Isabelle could remember many nights like that ten years ago, when they had said long goodbyes on the front porch of her boardinghouse, reluctant to part even after being together for hours.
“I feel like a teenager again,” Isabelle murmured as she walked with Michael to the front door, their hands linked together.
He smiled and raised her hand to his lips. “You look like one, too.”
They stopped at the door, and he turned, leaning back against it, and pulled Isabelle into his arms. He kissed her face, methodically moving from forehead to cheeks to nose to chin and finally settling lovingly on her mouth. They kissed until she was breathless; then Michael tore his mouth away and rested his head against hers.
“I could almost believe that being with you is enough,” he murmured, “but it’s not.” He kissed her ear, his teeth and lips teasing at the fleshy lobe. “I want you so much.”
His breath tickled her ear, stirring her even more, and Isabelle moved her body restlessly against his. “I want you, too.”
“Can I see you tomorrow night?” He grinned. “We can practice our scene for Monday.”
He referred to the big love scene they would film on Monday, in which Jessica and Curtis finally made love in a supposed cave in the jungle. Heat twisted in Isabelle’s abdomen at just the thought of it.
“All right,” she whispered, laying a soft kiss on his chin.
“At my place.” He kissed the side of her neck.
Isabelle drew in her breath sharply. “Yes.”
She pulled back, her eyes glittering in the dim light of the entry. “You better go now.”
“I will.” He pulled her to him for another deep, long kiss, then with a muffled curse, pulled away from her and went out the door.
Isabelle closed the door behind him and turned, leaning against the door as he had done. She closed her eyes, indulging herself in all the wonderful sensations that were coursing through her. Tomorrow couldn’t get here soon enough, she thought and, smiling, she walked through the house to her bedroom, turning off the lights.
* * *
“I like Michael,” Jenny announced the next morning, slathering peach jelly on her toast.
“Do you? I’m glad. So do I.” Isabelle stood at the sink, scraping off her own breakfast plate.
“Are you going to marry him?”
Isabelle whirled and stared at her daughter. “Jenny! Whatever made you think such a thing?”
Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know. Brandon’s dad got married.”
“Oh, he did?” Isabelle relaxed a little.
Jenny nodded in her emphatic way. “Yeah. And he got to...got to...sit. There, in front. He didn’t snort.”
“Well, good.”
“He was not supposed to. His dad said, he said, ‘No snorting.’” She turned her hands up in a quizzical gesture. “And he said he
didn’t. The lady wore, you know...” She stood and gestured in sweeping motions down her legs.
“A wedding dress?” Isabelle guessed.
“Yes. And her head was all...” She made circular motions. “You’d look pretty with it.”
“Thank you, Jenny, but I don’t have any plans to get married anytime soon.”
“I like Michael,” Jenny reiterated.
“I know. He likes you, too.” Isabelle came over and sat down across the table from her daughter. “I have to go to Michael’s this afternoon. Mrs. Pena will be here in a little while to take care of you.”
“Can I come?”
“Not today. Michael and I are going to run lines for our scene tomorrow. So we have to be alone.”
“Oh.” Jenny paused, then went on, apparently captivated by her previous topic. “You’d be prettier than Brandon’s new mom.”
“Thank you, but let’s not talk about a wedding or a bride for a while, okay? Let’s talk about what you and I are going to do before Mrs. Pena comes. What would you like to do?”
“Plant flowers,” Jenny replied promptly. “I couldn’t help the man. Mrs. Pena said, ‘No, don’t talk.’ I can dig good, though.”
“I know you can. Let’s do that, then.”
They spent the rest of the morning digging in the garden, planting flowers, as Jenny had wanted. Afterward, Isabelle showered and dressed, more careful than she usually was about her makeup and clothes. She still dressed casually—her wardrobe consisted of little besides jeans, shorts and tops, since after her usual day spent in glamorous dresses, jewelry, hose and torturous high heels, she favored casual wear. But today she spent fifteen minutes trying on jeans and tops until she found exactly the combination that she wanted.
She drove to Michael’s condo, feeling a little nervous. It was silly, she knew, but somehow she couldn’t help but feel that last night had been merely a dream, her imagination, and that this afternoon they would once more be at odds.
But Michael opened the door before she got to it, almost as soon as she parked and got out of her car, and the smile on his face was enough to light up a room. Isabelle hurried the last few steps to him and, as he opened his arms to her, she almost jumped into them. They came together in a blazing kiss. Michael’s arms went around Isabelle, lifting her up against his chest until her feet dangled off the ground and, never breaking their kiss, he walked with her inside the apartment and shut the door.
Once in a Blue Moon Page 13
